“I decided to write this article not as a columnist, but as a Kashmiri—as a daughter of this soil. When I heard a Member of Parliament justify the demolition of our homes and the detention of our youth with the chilling words, ‘What’s wrong with that?’—something in me broke. In that moment, all the tragedies my people have endured rewound in my mind like an old wound reopened. This article is not just my response—it is our collective voice.”

1. A Land with a Soul, Not Just a Dispute

Kashmir is not a conflict. It is not a “problem.” It is not a strategic location on a map to be discussed in high-level summits or parliamentary shouting matches. Kashmir is a home. A memory. A prayer. A wound. A poem too often silenced by gunshots. And before any discussion begins on its legal status or political future, we must begin by understanding this one truth: Kashmiris are people first—grieving, surviving, enduring, remembering.

To many Indians, Kashmir is the “crown of the nation.” To Pakistan, it is an “unfinished agenda.” To global powers, it is a nuclear flashpoint. But to Kashmiris, it is where their ancestors are buried, where their language is spoken in soft snow and saffron fields, where their culture dances between sufi shrines and tragic ballads, and where, sadly, they now live under the constant shadow of occupation, suspicion, and surveillance.

The autonomy of Kashmir is not just a political demand. It is not an act of defiance. It is the historical default—the foundation upon which the relationship between Kashmir and India was built in 1947. Kashmir was never meant to be assimilated like other Indian states. Its conditional accession, the creation of Article 370, its separate constitution, and the rights given to its permanent residents—these were not favours. They were guarantees, designed to preserve the dignity of a people who were promised self-governance within a federal India.

But what began as a promise soon turned into a chronic betrayal. Over the decades, the Indian state gradually dismantled every pillar of Kashmir’s autonomy. Through presidential orders, legal manipulations, and political coercion, what was once a unique and protected space became a laboratory for central control. And when Article 370 was unilaterally abrogated on August 5, 2019, without consultation or consent, it wasn’t just the law that changed—it was the very spirit of the democratic contract.

The government celebrated it as “integration.” For Kashmiris, it felt like annexation.

In the days that followed, Kashmir was locked down like never before. The Internet and phones were cut off. Elected leaders were arrested. Tourists were sent home. Military presence multiplied. And the silence that followed was not peace—it was a forced muting of an entire population.

And then came Parliament. A place where Kashmiris, already stripped of their local government, hoped to be heard. In 2024, after a militant attack in Pahalgam, MP Aga Ruhullah stood and spoke—not just as a politician, but as a son of the soil. His voice trembled as he spoke of 2,000 young boys detained without charges, of homes demolished in retaliatory raids, of a population living in fear. But the response was not outrage. One Member of Parliament dismissed it all with a chilling phrase: “What’s wrong with that?”

What’s wrong is that a nation that prides itself on democracy has normalized collective punishment. That people whose every protest is met with tear gas and bullets are told to “adjust.” That dignity, the one thing left after everything else is taken away, is being ground into dust.

In this article, we trace Kashmir’s journey of autonomy—not just as a legal or political evolution, but as a deeply emotional and historical reality. We look at:

• Kashmir’s pre-independence identity and self-governance.
• The conditional Instrument of Accession and how India’s founding leaders viewed Kashmir’s distinctiveness.
• The rise and fall of Article 370.
• The erasure of Kashmiri voices through electoral rigging, military presence, and media narrative.
• The economic suffocation post-2019 and the psychological toll of state surveillance.
• The role of Pakistan, both as a provocateur and as a factor complicating Kashmiri self-determination.
• The role of the United Nations Security Council, its resolutions, and why global powers failed Kashmir.
• And finally, a vision for the future—a way to rebuild trust, restore dignity, and reimagine autonomy in a pluralistic India.

This article is not a call for separatism. It is a plea for respect. Not a rejection of India, but a reminder to India—that federalism means accommodation, not absorption. That unity without dignity is just domination. And that Kashmir cannot be healed by silence, guns, or slogans—but only by justice, dialogue, and empathy.

2. Kashmir Before 1947: A Distinct Identity Carved by Time

To understand Kashmir’s current quest for dignity and autonomy, we must first peel back the layers of time and look at the Kashmir that existed long before 1947—before India’s tricolour and Pakistan’s crescent, before modern nation-states came to claim ownership over the valley. We must enter a world where Kashmir was not a border dispute, but a self-contained civilization—culturally rich, politically aware, and spiritually profound.

The Cradle of Civilizations

Kashmir’s roots go back over 5,000 years, with mentions in ancient Hindu scriptures, Buddhist texts, Persian chronicles, and Central Asian records. It was the land of Sanskrit scholars, Sufi mystics, and Persian poets—a melting pot of cultures where Hindu Shaivism, Buddhism, Islam, and Sufism coexisted in a delicate balance. This unique cultural chemistry came to be known as "Kashmiriyat"—a composite identity rooted in spiritual tolerance, humanism, and peaceful coexistence.

Historically, Kashmir had its own kings, its own legal traditions, and even its own calendar. The region was ruled by various dynasties—the Karkotas, Shah Mirs, Mughals, Afghans, Sikhs, and eventually the Dogras. But despite the changes in rulers, the people of Kashmir preserved a sense of selfhood—a continuity of culture that defied political regimes.

This was not merely spiritual or artistic. Kashmir had its own institutions of governance, systems of land ownership, and community councils long before British colonial frameworks. The people had agency. They were not strangers in their land.

The Dogra Rule: Feudal Control, Popular Resistance

In 1846, after the First Anglo-Sikh War, the Treaty of Amritsar was signed between the British East India Company and Gulab Singh, a Dogra nobleman. Through this treaty, Kashmir was literally sold to Gulab Singh for 7.5 million rupees—a dark transaction that turned a valley into a commodity. The Dogras were Hindu rulers governing a largely Muslim population, and this imbalance bred resentment over time.

Under Dogra rule, Kashmiris—particularly Muslims—faced extreme marginalization. Heavy taxation, forced labour, denial of political rights, and lack of education created an atmosphere of quiet suffering. The oppression was not just economic—it was cultural. Kashmiri Muslims were barred from administrative posts, denied land rights, and treated as second-class subjects in their own homeland.

One particularly painful memory that echoes in Kashmiri households is the infamous “begar” system, where peasants were forcibly conscripted for labour without pay—often carrying logs for royal construction or supplies through hazardous terrain. This exploitation scarred generations and also birthed a new wave of resistance.

The Political Awakening: From Silence to Struggle

In the early 20th century, a political consciousness began to rise in Kashmir. The turning point came in 1931, when a peaceful protest against religious persecution turned violent—22 unarmed Kashmiris were shot dead by Dogra forces in Srinagar. That day is still commemorated as Martyrs’ Day, and it marks the beginning of organized political struggle in the valley.

Following this, the Muslim Conference was formed in 1932 to give voice to Kashmiri grievances. But it soon transformed under the leadership of Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, a fiery orator and charismatic leader who believed that the struggle was not just religious, but deeply social and democratic. In 1939, the party was renamed the National Conference, symbolizing an inclusive identity beyond religious lines.

Sheikh Abdullah’s slogan, “Kashmir belongs to the Kashmiris”, was not a cry for secession but for self-respect. He envisioned a democratic Kashmir where land would belong to the tiller, education to the child, and power to the people. His politics were deeply influenced by secularism and socialism, and his early alliances with Jawaharlal Nehru were based on shared ideals of democracy and anti-colonialism.

But even as these democratic aspirations rose from the valley’s soil, a storm was brewing across the subcontinent.

The Looming Partition and Kashmir’s Dilemma

By 1946–47, the British Raj was collapsing. India and Pakistan were about to be born. Princely states—more than 560 in total—were given a choice: accede to India, join Pakistan, or remain independent. Among them, Jammu and Kashmir was the most sensitive. Why?

• It was a Muslim-majority state ruled by a Hindu monarch.
• It shared borders with India, Pakistan, and China.
• It had a strong local political movement that did not clearly align with either India or Pakistan.

Maharaja Hari Singh, the Dogra ruler, was reluctant to join either nation. He signed a Standstill Agreement with Pakistan, seeking continued trade and travel ties, and also reached out to India. His goal: to remain independent.

But independence was not to be.

In October 1947, Pashtun tribal militias from Pakistan, backed by elements of the Pakistani army, invaded Kashmir, committing atrocities along the way. The goal was to force Hari Singh’s hand. In panic, the Maharaja fled to Jammu and asked India for military help.

India agreed—but only on one condition: Kashmir had to formally accede to India.

On October 26, 1947, the Instrument of Accession was signed. But it was not a full merger. It was limited only to defence, foreign affairs, and communications. Everything else was to remain under Kashmiri control.

Thus, India’s relationship with Kashmir was founded on a contract—a promise of autonomy. Prime Minister Nehru himself assured the world that “the wishes of the people will decide the future of Kashmir.” He even promised a plebiscite, which was never held.

A Nation Within a Nation

By the time India became a republic in 1950, Kashmir’s position was unique. It had:

• Its own Constitution,
• Its own flag,
• A Prime Minister and Sadr-i-Riyasat (President),
• And legal control over all matters except three.

This was not a favour—it was a recognition of Kashmir’s distinct history. In many ways, Kashmir was a nation within a nation, held together not by force, but by trust.

But as we will see in the following sections, that trust would not survive. What began as a promise of partnership would be replaced by decades of manipulation, betrayal, and militarization.

3. The Instrument of Accession: Conditional Trust, Fragile Promises

The most pivotal document in Kashmir’s modern history is the Instrument of Accession, signed on October 26, 1947. But its significance is often misrepresented—treated as an absolute act of merger, when in reality, it was a highly conditional agreement, based on trust, necessity, and a fragile promise of future choice. It was not the end of Kashmir’s political journey with India—it was the beginning of a complex, often strained relationship that demanded mutual respect and constitutional safeguards.

A Kingdom in Chaos

When tribal militias backed by Pakistan invaded Kashmir in October 1947, the scale of violence shook the valley. Towns were looted, women were raped, children were killed, and entire communities fled into the hills. The invaders, while claiming to liberate Kashmir, acted more like plunderers. The Dogra army was overwhelmed, and Maharaja Hari Singh, faced with collapse, sent a desperate plea to the Indian government for military assistance.

The Indian leadership, led by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, was deeply aware of Kashmir’s strategic and symbolic importance. But Nehru also insisted that India could not intervene militarily without a legal basis. Thus, the Maharaja was asked to sign the Instrument of Accession—a formal document that would allow Indian troops to defend the territory.

But Nehru also made a critical promise. Once order was restored, the people of Kashmir would decide their political future through a plebiscite. In a radio broadcast, he famously said:

“We have declared that the fate of Kashmir is ultimately to be decided by the people. That pledge we have given, and the Maharaja has supported it. Not only to the people of Kashmir but to the world. We will not—and cannot—back out of it.”

What the Instrument Actually Said

The Instrument of Accession was a standard template used for princely states. But in Kashmir’s case, it came with a specific rider: the accession was limited to three subjects:

• Defence
• Foreign Affairs
• Communications

All other powers—including laws on land, education, taxation, and local governance—remained with the state of Jammu and Kashmir.

This arrangement was temporary, pending the final ratification by the people through a plebiscite. As a result, Article 370 was inserted into the Indian Constitution to formalize this temporary special status. It was a constitutional mechanism to honour the terms of the accession—not an act of generosity, but a binding commitment.

And for Kashmiris, this arrangement was accepted with guarded optimism. It was seen as a compromise between independence and total integration. It allowed them to retain control over their internal affairs while joining the secular, democratic framework of India.

The Emotional Contract

What often gets overlooked is that this wasn’t just a legal contract—it was an emotional contract. A contract built on:

• Trust that India would not absorb Kashmir without consent.
• Hope that the democratic ideals of Nehruvian India would protect Kashmir’s identity.
• Faith that autonomy was not just permitted, but respected.

It is this emotional fabric that began to tear apart in the years that followed.

Erosion Begins: Delhi's Interventions

Despite the clear limitations of the Instrument of Accession, successive Indian governments began chipping away at Kashmir’s autonomy, often through political interference and backdoor constitutional amendments.

By the mid-1950s:

• The Sadr-i-Riyasat (President of the State), once elected by the state assembly, was replaced by a Governor appointed by New Delhi.
• The Prime Minister of J&K was renamed Chief Minister, bringing it symbolically in line with other Indian states.
• Over 90 out of 97 subjects from the Indian Union List were extended to Kashmir through Presidential Orders—often without proper consultation.

Each of these steps was a violation of the original spirit of the accession. And for many Kashmiris, it felt like watching a promise unravel one amendment at a time.

The Forgotten Plebiscite

The most glaring betrayal was the failure to hold a plebiscite. Once Pakistan refused to withdraw its troops from the parts of Kashmir it controlled (now called Pakistan-administered Kashmir), India declared the plebiscite infeasible. Over time, it was quietly dropped from political discourse.

But for Kashmiris, the memory of that promise did not fade. It became a symbol of unkept commitments, of being politically disempowered and legally cornered.

And so, while India claimed that Kashmir had “chosen” to be part of the Union, many Kashmiris felt they had never truly been asked.

A Growing Alienation

By the 1960s and 70s, this alienation turned into frustration, especially as elections in the state were rigged to ensure pro-Delhi parties stayed in power. The 1987 elections, widely believed to be fraudulent, became the final straw. The militancy that erupted in 1989 was not just a result of Pakistan’s interference—it was fueled by years of political marginalization and broken democratic processes.

Thus, what began as a voluntary and conditional relationship between Kashmir and India became, in the eyes of many Kashmiris, an imposed and manipulative one.

4. Article 370: Shield of Identity or Political Token?

If the Instrument of Accession was the foundation of Kashmir’s relationship with India, then Article 370 was the safeguard, the symbol, and the spirit of that arrangement. It was more than a legal clause—it was the constitutional acknowledgment of Kashmir’s unique history, its cultural identity, and its political autonomy. To Kashmiris, it was a shield—flawed, eroded, and compromised over time—but still the last surviving proof that their consent once mattered.

To the rest of India, Article 370 was increasingly seen as a barrier—a wall that kept Kashmir from “fully integrating” into the Union. This growing tension between perception and purpose would eventually lead to its abrogation in August 2019, triggering not just legal and political upheaval, but a spiritual rupture for millions of Kashmiris.

Understanding Article 370: A Unique Provision

When the Indian Constitution was adopted on January 26, 1950, Jammu and Kashmir was the only state with its own separate Constitution. Article 370 was inserted as a temporary provision, but this was not to imply that it was unimportant. Rather, it was meant to reflect the temporary nature of Kashmir’s accession, pending final settlement of its status through a plebiscite or other means.

Under Article 370:

• The Indian Parliament could only legislate on matters related to defence, foreign affairs, and communications in J&K.
• Any extension of other central laws required the concurrence of the J&K government.
• The residuary powers (unlike other states, where they lie with the Centre) were vested in the J&K legislature.
• The state had its own flag and Constitution, adopted in 1957.
• Fundamental Rights under the Indian Constitution applied with modifications.

This framework allowed Kashmir to maintain control over:

• Land rights (non-Kashmiris could not purchase land),
• Employment quotas (reserved for permanent residents),
• Inheritance laws, and
• Administrative posts.

This was not succession. This was federalism in its truest sense—a model similar to how Catalonia functions within Spain or Quebec within Canada.

More Than a Clause: An Emotional Lifeline

To understand what Article 370 meant to ordinary Kashmiris, we must look beyond law books.

To a young Kashmiri student, Article 370 was the last legal proof that their identity mattered. To a family owning apple orchards passed down through generations, it was the guarantee that their land would remain theirs. To artisans, teachers, and bureaucrats, it was the hope that outsiders would not flood the system, marginalizing the local population.

Even as it was slowly weakened, Article 370 remained a psychological refuge. It reminded Kashmiris that, despite the crackdowns, despite the military checkpoints, despite the mistrust, there was still a promise—however faint—that they were not just subjects, but partners in the Indian union.

The Silent Hollowing Out

From 1953 onwards, the special status began to erode—quietly, systematically, and without consent.

Over the decades, through Presidential Orders, successive Indian governments applied over 100 central laws to Kashmir. These included:

• The Income Tax Act,
• The Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) jurisdiction,
• The Emergency Provisions of the Constitution,
• Various banking and financial laws.

Each time this was done, it bypassed the people of Kashmir. Even the J&K Constituent Assembly, meant to ratify such changes, was dissolved in 1957 and never reconstituted. This allowed New Delhi to interpret “concurrence” as the approval of the Governor, who was appointed by the Centre itself.

What remained by the 2000s was a skeletal version of the original Article 370—a legal body that had lost much of its soul.

Yet even this skeleton was precious. Because it stood as the last symbolic boundary between dignity and erasure.

The August 5, 2019 Abrogation: Anatomy of a Betrayal

On August 5, 2019, the Indian government, led by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), unilaterally revoked Article 370, citing national integration and equal rights as the rationale. Simultaneously, it also bifurcated the state, turning Jammu and Kashmir into a Union Territory, and separating Ladakh as a separate entity.

How was it done?

• Article 370(3) stated that the provision could be abrogated only with the recommendation of the J&K Constituent Assembly.
• But that Assembly no longer existed.
• The Centre used its powers under President’s Rule (which had suspended the state legislature) to claim that the Governor's consent was enough.
• This legal sleight of hand allowed Parliament to declare that Article 370 no longer existed.

The irony? The same Article was used to destroy itself.

The people of Kashmir woke up that morning to find their state dissolved, their Constitution invalidated, and their flag erased. It was a reversal of history, done without consultation, consent, or representation.

And then came the lockdown.

• Internet and phones were cut off for nearly 18 months in some areas.
• Political leaders, activists, lawyers, and students were detained under preventive custody.
• Journalists were silenced, and local newspapers were pressured to toe the government line.
• A blanket of silence fell over the valley.

The Indian state called it a “bold move.” Kashmiris called it collective punishment.

The Human Impact

Beyond the legal implications, the emotional consequences were devastating.

In villages, old men wept quietly—not for political loss, but for the feeling that their voice no longer mattered. In schools, children asked their teachers, “Will we ever have our own government again?” Women worried about land laws and the influx of outsiders. Youth felt they had been rendered stateless in their own land.

Article 370 was not perfect. It did not prevent human rights abuses. It did not deliver complete freedom. But it was a symbol of something precious: that Kashmir’s identity was acknowledged.

Its abrogation told Kashmiris, in no uncertain terms, that their history had been deleted with a signature.

5. A State Without a Voice: The Psychological Impact of 2019 and After

On August 5, 2019, as New Delhi celebrated the “historic integration” of Kashmir with the rest of India, an eerie and deafening silence descended over the valley. No one cheered in the streets. There were no firecrackers, no waving flags. There were only armed checkpoints, shuttered shops, frightened eyes, and a population suspended in uncertainty.

For the rest of India, this moment was portrayed as the final solution to the “Kashmir issue.” But for Kashmiris, it felt like a funeral without mourning—an erasure of identity so profound that even grief had to be contained within the walls of their homes.

The revocation of Article 370 was not just a legal event—it was a psychological trauma. It broke not only constitutional promises, but the spirit of an already weary people.

The Longest Silence

In the days leading up to August 5, thousands of additional troops were deployed in Kashmir. Schools and colleges were shut. Tourists were hurriedly evacuated. Then came the communications blackout. For months:

• Mobile networks, broadband, and landlines were cut,
• Journalists were muzzled,
• Families were cut off from loved ones, even in neighboring villages.

Kashmiris joke, with grim irony, that theirs became the first region in the world to be “digitally erased.” The pain was immediate and brutal:

• Patients died because ambulances couldn’t be called.
• Students missed scholarship deadlines and exams due to a lack of internet.
• Weddings were postponed, funerals were sparsely attended, and life shrank into a state-imposed solitude.

This was not just censorship—it was psychological warfare

Political Blackout: Detained for Speaking

As the state was stripped of its special status and downgraded to a Union Territory, its political leadership—both separatist and mainstream—was arrested. Figures who had once served as Chief Ministers under the Indian flag, like Mehbooba Mufti, Omar Abdullah, and Farooq Abdullah, were suddenly declared threats to “national integrity.”

These detentions sent a chilling message: Even those who believed in the Indian Constitution were no longer safe.

Local Panchayat officials, village heads, and opposition voices were warned, watched, and in many cases, detained under draconian laws like the Public Safety Act (PSA) and the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA). A tweet could now land someone in jail. A protest placard could result in weeks of interrogation.

Political engagement, already frayed, began to collapse into fear. The message was clear: There is no room for dissent in a “new” Kashmir.

Youth and Identity: A Generation Disillusioned

Before 2019, Kashmir's youth were already navigating trauma: decades of conflict, militarization, and broken educational systems. But after the abrogation of Article 370, their world shrank further.

• Internet restrictions continued on and off for years, especially high-speed 4G internet, severely affecting education.
• The lack of job opportunities, combined with political alienation, pushed many into either depression or anger.
• Surveillance increased dramatically, both online and offline. Young people had to self-censor even casual conversations.

Many students lost interest in higher education. A Kashmiri college graduate from Anantnag confessed:

• Mental health professionals in the valley reported sharp rises in cases of PTSD, anxiety, and suicidal ideation, particularly among adolescents and women.
• One study by MSF (Médecins Sans Frontières) estimated that 1 in 5 adults in Kashmir shows symptoms of PTSD, a figure higher than in many conflict zones. Yet, the infrastructure for mental health remains woefully inadequate, and discussing trauma remains taboo.

The Economic Collapse

The abrogation came at a heavy economic cost. The lockdowns destroyed livelihoods across sectors:

• Tourism, one of the valley’s main industries, collapsed completely.
• Apple growers couldn’t transport their produce due to curfews, resulting in huge losses.
• Handicraft artisans, who depended on external markets, were left bankrupt.
• Daily wage workers lost jobs overnight, pushing thousands into poverty.

While the Indian government promised investment and development, very little materialized on the ground. In fact, far from being “mainstreamed,” Kashmir’s economy was further paralyzed by bureaucratic control, red tape, and top-down decision-making without local consultation.

Demolition and Detention: The Pahalgam Fallout

In 2025, following a militant attack in Pahalgam, the Indian government launched sweeping crackdowns. Over 2,000 youth were detained, and nearly 12 homes were demolished. Families were left homeless—often without formal charges or trials.

In Parliament, MP Aga Ruhullah dared to speak out. He detailed the detentions, the demolitions, the criminalization of youth simply for living in areas considered “sensitive.” He spoke of a people punished not for what they did, but for who they are.

In response, a BJP MP responded chillingly:

“What’s wrong with that?”

What’s wrong is that collective punishment is a war crime under international law. What’s wrong is that a democratic nation cannot target entire communities in the name of national security. What’s wrong is that Kashmiri pain is now seen as acceptable collateral for political convenience.

A Silenced Press, A Controlled Narrative

Independent journalism in Kashmir has become almost impossible. Newspapers are under constant pressure, editors are summoned by police, and reporters are threatened or jailed.

• News agencies must follow government “media policy” guidelines.
• Stories that portray the government in a negative light are often scrubbed or altered.
• International journalists are rarely given access.
• Journalist Fahad Shah and many others were detained under UAPA for “spreading anti-national content.”

In a land where truth is labelled sedition, fear becomes the only language spoken aloud.

Kashmir today is not just a Union Territory without autonomy. It is a land without voice, a people without agency, and a generation without dreams. The cost of this psychological suffocation is not visible on GDP charts or military briefings—it is written on the faces of parents who whisper lullabies with dread, of teachers who censor Shakespeare, of teenagers who no longer believe in tomorrow.

6. Pakistan and the Proxy War: From Brotherhood to Betrayal

If India’s betrayal of Kashmiri autonomy has been constitutional and political, then Pakistan’s betrayal has been strategic and opportunistic. For decades, Pakistan has claimed to be the defender of Kashmiris, championing their right to self-determination on international platforms. But in truth, Pakistan’s involvement in Kashmir has been less about Kashmiris and more about Kashmir—less about people and more about territorial ambition.

From offering moral support to launching full-scale wars, from sponsoring militancy to manipulating separatist groups, Pakistan has contributed immensely and tragically to the deterioration of life, governance, and peace in the valley.

The Early Days: Claims of Brotherhood

Pakistan's claim over Kashmir began almost immediately after Partition, driven by two factors:

• Kashmir's Muslim-majority population, and
• The geo-strategic importance of the region as a buffer between India, Pakistan, and China.

The idea was simple: since Pakistan was created as a homeland for Muslims, Kashmir “naturally” belonged to it. But this argument ignored the fact that many Muslim-majority areas, such as Junagadh and Hyderabad, chose to join India. Moreover, Kashmir had its own political awakening—led by secular leaders like Sheikh Abdullah, who rejected both Pakistan's religious nationalism and India's centralizing impulses.

Nevertheless, Pakistan saw Kashmir as unfinished business. After failing to annex it through the 1947 tribal invasion, Pakistan turned to international forums. It won initial sympathy at the United Nations, where Resolution 47 (1948) called for a plebiscite—after Pakistan withdrew its troops (which it never did).

But as diplomacy stalled, Pakistan slowly changed its strategy from international engagement to internal subversion.

Training Militants: From Support to Subversion

The late 1980s saw rising frustration in Kashmir due to rigged elections and state repression. This created a vacuum that Pakistan quickly exploited.

By 1989, Pakistan’s military-intelligence establishment, particularly the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), began training and arming Kashmiri youth and pushing them back into the valley to wage war. Initially, many militants were homegrown, with genuine political grievances. But over time, these movements were hijacked by Pakistan-based outfits like:

• Hizbul Mujahideen
• Lashkar-e-Taiba
• Jaish-e-Mohammed

These groups didn’t just fight the Indian state. They radicalized a generation, intimidated civilians, and targeted minorities like the Kashmiri Pandits, thousands of whom were forced to flee the valley in the early 1990s.

The introduction of foreign fighters—Afghans, Pakistanis, even Chechens—turned what was once a local resistance into a proxy war. And while Pakistan claimed to support “freedom fighters,” its own history of denying autonomy to regions like Balochistan exposed the hypocrisy.

Kargil and the Militarization of Identity

In 1999, Pakistan’s army launched the Kargil War, sending soldiers disguised as militants into Indian territory. The war led to hundreds of deaths on both sides and worsened Indo-Pak ties. While Pakistan was eventually forced to withdraw, Kargil proved how willing the Pakistani deep state was to use Kashmiris as pawns—risking total war in pursuit of geopolitical gain.

This permanent state of hostility forced India to further militarize the valley, creating a vicious cycle: more troops, more alienation, more militancy, more crackdowns.

Kashmiris were trapped between India’s state violence and Pakistan’s proxy war—two nuclear powers pulling the region apart with equal ruthlessness and indifference.

Exploiting Religion: The Rise of Radicalism

In the early 2000s, as global jihadism rose, Pakistan allowed groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed to frame the Kashmir conflict as an Islamic holy war. This shift from a secular political movement to a religiously radicalized conflict alienated large sections of Kashmiri society.

• Schools were targeted for teaching a secular curriculum.
• Sufism and Kashmiriyat, once the spiritual heart of the valley, were attacked as “impure.”
• Women were pressured to wear a veil, and cultural expression began to shrink.

The damage was profound. Kashmir’s composite culture began to erode, replaced by fear, suspicion, and sectarianism. Pakistan had succeeded in destabilizing the region, but in doing so, it destroyed the very social fabric it claimed to defend.

ISI’s Political Puppets

Pakistan’s influence wasn’t limited to the battlefield. It extended to the political sphere as well.

Many separatist leaders received funding and direction from Pakistan, undermining their credibility and moral authority. Lavish lifestyles, internal corruption, and lack of transparency made these groups look more like power brokers than representatives of the people.

For the average Kashmiri, these so-called leaders did little to alleviate suffering. They became symbols of betrayal—profiting from the pain of the people they claimed to fight for.

The Cost of Two Betrayals

If India has denied Kashmir its dignity, Pakistan has denied it its authenticity. By turning a people’s political struggle into a militarized, radicalized, externally directed war, Pakistan helped India justify its excessive force and control.

Kashmiris have paid the price. Not Pakistan. Not Delhi.

• Thousands have died in crossfires, fake encounters, and militant attacks.
• Families have been destroyed by disappearances and torture.
• The economy, culture, and mental health of the region have been systematically crushed.

Recent Shifts: Lip Service and Silence

Since 2019, Pakistan’s rhetoric on Kashmir has remained loud, especially at the UN General Assembly. But beyond speeches, no substantive international coalition has emerged. In fact:

• Saudi Arabia and the UAE have deepened trade with India, choosing economics over solidarity.
• China, despite its own border tensions with India, has been selective in its criticism.
• Even Pakistan’s own internal crises—economic meltdown, political instability, terrorism—have weakened its global standing.

Thus, Kashmiris now find themselves invisible in Indian democracy and abandoned in Pakistani diplomacy.

Pakistan’s role in the Kashmir conflict is a reminder that false saviours can be just as dangerous as visible oppressors. It exploited pain, manufactured rebellion, and profited from chaos—all while pretending to protect.

Kashmiris want freedom from both cages: from Delhi’s control and Pakistan’s games. They want their future back—in their own hands.

7. The United Nations and the Vanishing International Will

When the flames of conflict first engulfed Kashmir in 1947, the international community, especially the newly formed United Nations, took notice. The India-Pakistan dispute over the region became one of the first crises ever debated at the UN Security Council (UNSC). For a moment, it seemed the world cared about the fate of Kashmir. Resolutions were passed. Peace was promised. A people’s voice was recognized.

But as decades rolled on, the world grew quieter. The words of solidarity turned into silence. The UN’s promises, like those of India and Pakistan, faded into irrelevance, leaving Kashmiris to face their trauma alone.

The Early Days: UN Resolution 47 and the Plebiscite Promise

The United Nations became involved in Kashmir on January 1, 1948, when India complained to Pakistan, accusing it of aiding tribal invaders in Kashmir. Pakistan, in response, accused India of denying Kashmir’s Muslim majority the right to join Pakistan.

In response, the UN Security Council passed Resolution 47 on April 21, 1948, which proposed:

1. Pakistan must withdraw all its nationals and irregular forces from the region.
2. India would then gradually reduce its military presence.
3. After peace was restored, a plebiscite would be held under UN supervision, allowing Kashmiris to determine their own future.

At the time, this resolution was hailed as a diplomatic breakthrough. But neither side fulfilled its conditions:

• Pakistan never fully withdrew its troops from what is now Pakistan-Administered Kashmir (PoK).
• India then refused to hold the plebiscite, arguing that Pakistan had violated the resolution’s precondition.

The result? The plebiscite was quietly buried, never to be discussed in Indian policymaking again—while Pakistan continued to invoke it, more for propaganda than principle.

For Kashmiris, this was the first major international betrayal—a promise made by the global community, then abandoned.

UNMOGIP: A Forgotten Peacekeeper

In 1949, the UN created the United Nations Military Observer Group in India and Pakistan (UNMOGIP) to monitor the ceasefire line (now known as the Line of Control or LoC). It was tasked with reporting ceasefire violations and maintaining neutrality.

But over the years:

• India stopped cooperating with UNMOGIP after the 1972 Simla Agreement, which redefined Kashmir as a bilateral issue between India and Pakistan.
• The mission continued to operate in Pakistan-administered territory, but its relevance sharply declined.
• Today, UNMOGIP exists more as a symbolic presence than a functional body.

No major international intervention has occurred in Kashmir under UN leadership since the early 1950s.

The Shimla Agreement and the Shrinking of Global Space

In 1972, following the India-Pakistan war and the creation of Bangladesh, the two countries signed the Shimla Agreement, which stated that all disputes—including Kashmir—would be resolved bilaterally.

While India hailed this as a diplomatic success, it also served to freeze Kashmir out of the international agenda. The bilateral framework allowed India to:

• Reject third-party mediation,
• Shut down internationalization of the issue, and
• Portray Kashmir as an “internal matter.”

Pakistan, though initially agreeing, continued to raise the issue internationally—but with less and less effect.

For Kashmiris, this meant the door to international justice was slowly closed.

Global Silence Post-2019: The Era of Strategic Interests

One might have expected that the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019—which came with mass detentions, communications blackouts, and civil rights violations—would provoke international outrage. After all, such mass suppression in any other region would be met with sanctions, special UN sessions, or at least, global condemnation.

Instead, the world responded with muted concern, and in most cases, deafening silence.

• The UN Secretary-General issued a brief statement expressing “concern” and urging restraint.
• A few European MPs and human rights bodies spoke out, but with no real diplomatic follow-up.
• The United States—under both Republican and Democratic leadership—remained largely silent, owing to growing strategic ties with India.
• The Muslim world, expected to champion the cause, chose economic interests over morality. The UAE awarded India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi its highest civilian honour just weeks after the crackdown.

This silence wasn’t neutral. It was a loud endorsement of India's narrative—that Kashmir is an “internal issue,” not a human crisis.

Selective Sympathy and Western Hypocrisy

Many Kashmiris draw comparisons between their cause and other international struggles:

• The global outrage over Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and the West’s massive mobilization of aid and media,
• The solidarity movements for Palestine or Hong Kong,
• The Western commitment to freedom of speech and human rights—except in Kashmir.

Kashmiris ask:

• Why is a Ukrainian resisting occupation a freedom fighter, but a Kashmiri is a terrorist?
• Why is Chinese censorship condemned, but Kashmir’s 7-month internet blackout ignored?
• Why are UN resolutions sacred for others, but scrap paper for Kashmir?

This selective morality, driven by strategic alliances and economic priorities, has deeply disillusioned Kashmir’s youth. They have lost faith not just in India and Pakistan, but also in the idea of global justice itself.

The Human Rights Watchdogs: Banned, Ignored, Silenced

Several international organizations have attempted to highlight Kashmir’s plight:

• Amnesty International, which called the 2019 clampdown “a siege,” was forced to shut down its operations in India.
• Human Rights Watch, UNHRC, and Reporters Without Borders issued damning reports on abuses—but were dismissed as “biased.”
• Independent fact-finding teams were denied visas, while local activists were jailed or surveilled.

The Indian state responded by criminalizing criticism, branding it as “anti-national,” and using media control to spin a counter-narrative.

As a result, Kashmir has become one of the most underreported conflict zones in the world, despite being one of the most militarized places on Earth.

The United Nations, which once promised Kashmiris a vote, now offers only footnotes in reports. The world, once expected to intervene, now colludes in silence. And the dream of self-determination—enshrined in Resolution 47—has been turned into a dusty relic, remembered only by the oppressed.

8. What Kashmiris Want: Dignity, Dialogue, and the Right to Decide

In the storm of military doctrines, media spin, nationalist rhetoric, and geopolitical strategies, one voice remains unheard—the voice of the Kashmiri people themselves. For decades, Kashmiris have been spoken about, fought over, and ruled upon—but rarely have they been spoken to. What do Kashmiris want? The answer, though complex, can be distilled into three words: Dignity. Dialogue. Decision.

Not every Kashmiri demands secession. Not every Kashmiri supports militancy. But every Kashmiri demands dignity—the right to exist without fear, to speak without being silenced, and to live without being constantly watched.

The Need for Dignity: More Than Survival

• Kashmiris do not ask for charity, pity, or tokenism. They ask for recognition as human beings with equal rights—not just in legal texts, but in lived reality.
• The right not to be viewed as a suspect every time one crosses a military bunker.
• The right to own and protect ancestral land without fear of demographic dilution.
• The right to educate their children without fearing internet shutdowns.
• The right to speak their language, write their stories, and remember their history.

Dignity also means ending collective punishment. No society can heal when its youth are jailed without trial, when its homes are demolished as retribution, when its mourning is met with celebration by others.

Dialogue: The Missing Bridge

Successive Indian governments have framed Kashmir as either a terrorism problem or a development issue—convenient narratives that reduce people to numbers and infrastructure goals. But Kashmir is a political issue—one rooted in history, betrayal, and unfulfilled promises.

Kashmiris want dialogue, but not the kind held behind closed doors with handpicked loyalists. They want:

• Genuine, inclusive, multi-stakeholder dialogue that includes all voices—mainstream, separatist, civil society, youth, women.
• An acknowledgment that the problem is not Pakistan, but the lack of internal democratic space.
• A discussion that doesn’t begin with “you are part of India” but with “what are your aspirations?”

Even those who believe in the Indian Constitution feel humiliated by the 2019 abrogation of Article 370 without consultation. They are now treated as enemies by the very state they once defended.

The Right to Decide: Autonomy, Not Anarchy

The idea of self-determination is not a call for chaos. It is a legitimate political demand—one recognized by the UN and practiced in various democracies around the world.

Kashmiris want the right to decide:

• How they are governed.
• Who governs them?
• What laws apply to their land?
• What future do they envision?

This doesn’t necessarily mean secession for all. Many Kashmiris would accept genuine internal autonomy within India—if it was granted with sincerity, safeguarded by the Constitution, and respected by the political establishment.

What they cannot accept is the current reality:

• A Union Territory with no elected assembly.
• A bureaucrat from Delhi ruling over millions.
• Land and jobs are being opened to outsiders without consent.
• Political leaders jailed for demanding rights guaranteed under the Constitution.

Self-governance is not a threat. It is a democratic necessity. And denying it only fuels alienation.

Listening to the Silenced

Every Kashmiri has a story:

• A father disappeared in custody in the 1990s, never to return.
• A child scarred by pellet guns during a protest.
• A mother weeping quietly because her son was arrested for writing a Facebook post.
• A student who can’t apply for scholarships because internet services remain erratic.

These are not exceptions. These are daily realities.

Not Between India and Pakistan—But Beyond Them

Too often, the world frames Kashmir as a choice between India and Pakistan. But this binary is outdated and unjust. Kashmiris want the right to shape a future that is neither hostage to Delhi’s control nor Islamabad’s manipulation.

• Some may want complete independence.
• Others may want restoration of special status within India.
• Some may envision greater regional autonomy.
• Many just want basic human dignity, stability, and peace—regardless of the flag.

Whatever the vision, the starting point must be agency. Kashmiris are not voiceless. They are silenced. Give them the microphone—not to echo slogans, but to tell truths.

Kashmiris want dignity, not domination. They want dialogue, not directives. They want the right to decide, not to be decided for. Until this is understood, no development plan, no military operation, no constitutional change can bring peace.

9. Conclusion: Toward a Just Future for Kashmir

Kashmir is not a conflict zone—it is a story, a wound, a longing, and a resistance that stretches across decades, borders, and betrayals. From the snow-covered shrines of Anantnag to the apple orchards of Sopore, from the ruins of demolished homes to the whispers of detained youth, Kashmir tells a tale that is both ancient and immediate, personal and political.

It is the story of a people struggling to hold on to memory in a land that is being forcibly reimagined by powers they did not elect. It is the story of promises made and broken, identities erased, and voices dismissed. It is the story of a region trapped between two nuclear neighbors, neither of whom has fully honored its people or its pain.

The Weight of History

Kashmir’s history did not begin in 1947, nor with the Article 370 judgment, nor with the latest terror attack or election boycott. It began centuries earlier—with a distinct culture, language, and governance structure that evolved separately from both Indian and Pakistani identities.

By the time the British left, Kashmir was a sovereign princely state with its own flag, ruler, army, and postal system. Its accession to India was conditional—guided by war, chaos, and promises of autonomy. Those promises were first written into Article 370, then slowly hollowed out, and finally erased altogether in 2019.

The abrogation did not integrate Kashmir—it fractured it further. It replaced debate with detentions, elections with administrators, and dreams with dread.

This is not “mainstreaming.” This is managing a population through fear. And history teaches us that such arrangements do not last.

The Emotional Cost

In the modern policy discourse, the human dimension of Kashmir is often lost. We hear of GDP growth, terror arrests, and infrastructure projects. But we rarely hear of:

• The 12-year-old who stopped speaking after seeing his father beaten.
• The woman who lights a lamp every evening, waiting for a son missing since 1995.
• The poet who buries verses under floorboards to avoid arrest.

This is the real cost—the emotional erosion of a people whose stories are being edited in real time. Kashmiris are not a “problem” to be solved. They are a people to be heard, acknowledged, and respected.

Without emotional justice, there can be no political peace.

The International Abdication

The world once promised a plebiscite. Today, it offers nothing more than platitudes and trade deals. The United Nations, once the custodian of Kashmir’s right to decide its future, now issues press releases filled with passive concern. Western democracies that champion liberty elsewhere fall silent when it comes to Kashmir.

Why? Because India is too big to challenge, and Kashmiris are too small to matter.

But justice is not a numbers game. It is a matter of principle. And principles matter most when they are hardest to defend.

Beyond the Binaries

The future of Kashmir cannot be dictated by Delhi or Islamabad. It must emerge from Srinagar, Baramulla, Kupwara, Shopian, and Ladakh. It must be built not on military doctrines or bureaucratic reports, but on trust, transparency, and truth-telling.

This means:

• Restoring democratic institutions and holding elections—not for validation, but for representation.
• Undoing draconian laws that jail people for tweets and poems.
• Demilitarizing civilian spaces, so that homes are not turned into checkpoints.
• Protecting land, jobs, and cultural heritage, not auctioning it off in the name of development.
• Engaging in sincere dialogue, not one-sided diktats.

Most importantly, it means returning agency to the people. Whatever future Kashmir chooses—whether within India, outside it, or in some shared form—it must be chosen by Kashmiris, not imposed upon them.

A Call to India

To those in India who cheer the abrogation, ask yourself: What is India without its moral compass? If Kashmir is truly an integral part of India, then its people must be treated as integral human beings. Not as suspects. Not as pawns. Not as threats.

India's strength has always been its diversity, its federalism, and its Constitution. Undermining these in Kashmir means undermining them everywhere.

“We do not fear India,” “We fear the India that forgets its own Constitution.”

A Call to Pakistan

To Pakistan: stop using Kashmir to distract from your own failures. If you truly believe in Kashmir’s freedom, start by freeing your own press, your own Baloch people, your own minorities. Stop sending guns and sermons across the border. Start sending solidarity, not strategy.

Kashmiris are not your tools. They are your brothers and sisters. Support them by stepping back, not by stepping in.

A Call to the World

To the international community: do not wait for another mass grave before you remember Kashmir. Do not let strategic alliances erase human rights. Be consistent. Be principled. Be brave.

The time to intervene is not after the crisis explodes. The time is now—when there’s still a chance for peace.

And a Call to Kashmir

To the people of Kashmir: You have survived wars, betrayals, lockdowns, and lies. You have suffered more than most and endured more than anyone expected. But do not let despair win. Your resistance is valid, your pain is real, and your hope is sacred.

Do not allow anyone—India, Pakistan, or the world—to define your worth. You are not voiceless. You are silenced. And every time you speak, write, sing, or survive—you reclaim your voice.

Kashmir is not a problem to be solved—it is a promise to be kept.

The promise of dignity. 

The promise of choice.  

The promise of freedom.

And until that promise is honored, there will be no peace—not for Kashmir, not for the subcontinent, not for the world.

. And perhaps the truest reflection of our grief comes not in words, but in these lines by a Kashmiri singer, Faheem Abdullah                          "Jhelum roya, Kashmir ke liye Jhelum roya."

The river weeps because the people cannot. The river remembers because the world chooses to forget. And until justice returns to the valley, even Jhelum will not flow in peace.

.    .    .